


Come Down With Me

by dawnstonedust (dawnstonedagger)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Blow Job, Broken Bones, Control Issues, Cunnilingus, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time Blow Jobs, Five Times Plus One, Healing, In the Fade, Make Up Oral, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex Magic, Shameless Smut, literally falling, smut and more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Solas went down on Ellana and wouldn't let her return the favor, for fear of losing control, and one time she caught him off guard, because she wanted him to lose control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the Dragon Age Kink meme, original prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13890.html?thread=56379202#t56379202

* * *

1.  
“Here?” Ellana gasped, as he released her from a long and breathless kiss she had been loath to end.

She glanced over his shoulder; it seemed like they were alone, but the alcove was near the kitchens, they could easily be heard.

“And now, if you like,” Solas replied.

She had thought he only meant to steal a kiss, but he'd pinned her against the wall instead. As her mouth grew more greedy for his, and their touches became more direct and heated, one of his roving hands drifted under the waistband of her snug leathers, down into her smallclothes. Pressing forward into his touch, she could feel him smiling against her mouth like he'd made some great discovery.

“I would like, but I thought you said you wanted an evening morsel,” she laughed.

Solas withdrew his damp fingers to undo her laces, then hooked his thumbs, peeling her leathers down, until they sagged at her knees. The stone was cold and rough against her bare skin then his hands came back around to cup her rear.

“I do.” 

He slid into a crouch, kissing her hips and belly sensually as he moved to kneel between her legs. Ellana shuddered, excited as she was nervous as Solas groped her backside, and tugged her lower, pressing his mouth against her mound. Stroking her thighs firmly with his hands, he began to lavish her clit, starting with long slow strokes of his tongue. Rocking his face up into the wet heat of her core, he laved and sucked at her nether lips, until she clutched at his bare scalp, wanting his attention back where it had been; she felt as much as heard him chuckle against her skin, his breath tickling her, and quickly he moved to attend.

When he started intensifying his pace, she couldn't hide her panting breaths, though she tried to strangle back the sounds that she wanted to make. There was always someone around here, surely they would get caught. But she didn't even try to make him stop, it felt too good, she desperately wanted to reach the climax she could feel building.

The rest of the clothing she had on began to feel restricting and hot, and she grasped at his shoulders for purchase, though he did not slow or stop.

Thank the Creators he didn't. In moments, a warm, mind-numbing pleasure rushed through her body, and sprawled panting before him, her legs feeling like water, she slid down the rest of the way to the chilly stone floor where they knelt together.

Pulling her to him, Solas' face still fairly glistened with the wetness from between her thighs, as he looked at her with a smug, satisfied grin; Ellana smiled back, laughing at herself, a little at how she must look, too, and at how she must have sounded. Somehow, she doubted there was anyone in the lower levels who hadn't heard her wanton moans as he brought her off.

“You—I—that was...” To express how pleased she was with him at the moment, would require them to start all over again, preferably somewhere more private.

“Something to help you sleep tonight,” he said, his voice soft and fond as he touched her face.

“Much better than warm milk.”

“Indeed,” he said, and wiped his lips to kiss her, then helped her to stand.

Once Ellana put herself back together, Solas brushed a stray strand of hair back over her ear, whispered endearments to her in Elven, and slipped away.

She realized it too late, that they hadn't done a thing to take care of him. Even though there were several layers of clothing restraining his erection, it had been hard for her to miss how aroused he was. It seemed he had left without expecting anything in kind, and so, she determined to make it up to him as soon as possible.

* * *

2.  
Solas never gave her the opportunity, however.

Instead, he disappointed her, using his sweet, talented tongue and hands to convince her that she should just relax into his touch, never to worry about what he wanted, needed. Solas could talk his way out of anything, even an offer of pleasure.

“Don't you want me to make you feel this good?” she asked, trying another tactic.

“Do not doubt for even a second, that am not already enjoying this immensely,” he said, kissing his way up the inside of her leg. They were ensconced in her quarters for the evening, curled together on her bed, though she was mostly naked, and he still fully clothed.

“But don't you want more?”

“More of what, vhenan? You? Yes, always. I want to run my tongue over every inch of your beautiful skin. To tease and travel you with hands and mouth, until you cannot breathe without remembering me upon your body. Let me savor your delight; all else can wait,” he said, punctuating his declaration by burying his face between her legs.

“All else?” she asked, gasping and quivering under his redoubled ministrations, but never got an answer. He knew how to make her forget to care. “Mmmm... Creators, Solas—just like that, ahhh...”

* * *

3.  
The third time she felt certain would be different.

For one thing, she'd managed to get him out of his clothes. After riding all day, back from a bloody stint in the Emprise, a hot bath in the large marble tub she'd had installed in her quarters, was doing them both a world of good. Solas even let her massage his shoulders and back for a bit, before he returned the favor.

Now, she was floating with her legs hooked over his shoulders, as he took his time tasting her, making her squirm and writhe with his fingers and mouth. She could feel his thick erection brush her rear every time he let her sink back into the water, and she had to restrain herself from pressing against it more deliberately. She was starting to wonder if it was some sort of game to him, to see if she could resist touching him.

“Ah, mmmm, I don't, ah, know if I'm as skilled at this as you are, but don't you think you deserve a little more attention?” Ellana asked, hoping that this time he might crack and let her take him in her mouth.

“Could you be a little more specific? I do not understand at all what you mean,” he replied, though he didn't look at her when he said it. It would seem her knee was far more fascinating.

“You know—ah—perfectly well,” she said, as he tried to distract her by nipping and sucking at the inside of her thigh.

“I do not think it would be wise. I... I don't want to lose control,” he admitted, finally, though he didn't elaborate upon what he meant.

Was he afraid of letting himself fully relax, or of hurting her somehow? Ellana couldn't fathom how he might consider the latter, as he had seen her take down a giant with negligible assistance. In the field, she was far from fragile.

“Isn't that the point, my love? Letting yourself go, being taken care of?” she said.

“Not necessarily. I can take care of myself, Ellana, I assure you.”

“Oh? Would you really make me watch you stroke yourself to completion, when all the while I ached to touch you?” she said, hoping she sounded more seductive than she did impatient or petulant.

His hands clamped down on her legs at her suggestion. The narrowing of his eyes and the set of his jaw, told her he wanted her to do so much, much more than observe, but he maintained his frustrating facade of restraint.

“There is a certain appeal to watching your eyes fill with lust for me, yes,” he said with a chuckle. He poked her in the back from below, and though her skin was already flushed, she felt her cheeks grow hotter still.

Solas lifted her forward and again took her core against his mouth; Ellana could only gasp and cling to the sides of the bath, as he did his other kind of magic.

Caught up in the moment, she almost didn't notice when he slithered a hand under the water between them. He really did mean to finish himself as he finished her.

Maybe he _was_ using magic; even in her half-attentive state, she marveled at how in control he seemed, like he had memorized some perfect pattern for pleasuring her body. Under his unflagging assault, Ellana panted and growled, bucked and arched against him, feeling like a cloth that was being wrung dry, as she came.

Seeking to match her, Solas' movements did not falter; his breathing barely hitched to indicate his own building climax; then he sucked in his breath, cool and sharp, tickling her oversensitive nether lips, offering her ears little more than a choked moan.

As she lay floating, languid and sleepy, legs still cast over his shoulders, he kissed his way down her calf, to nibble at the sensitive spot behind her ankle; a distraction, perhaps the ghost of an apology.

Part of her wanted not to care, to be selfish. Let him have his way if he didn't want to trust her completely with his body.

But, Ellana thought, that would be too sad. How could they ever be on even ground, equal partners, if he refused to let her care for him, give him pleasure, allow her to see him completely fall apart at her touch?

“It didn't have to be like that. You could have had me over the side of the bath, if you needed more,” she murmured, nudging his cheek with her toe.

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, wincing back from her sharp, lacquered nail; catching her foot, he sank his teeth into the inner arch hard enough to make her squeal. It didn't hurt, she gasped more at the surprise than anything, the feeling fading into a strange convulsion of renewed desire.

“You know what I want,” she said. Unable to hide her blush, she tried to recover her dignity, by concealing her feet under the rapidly cooling water.

Solas gave her an infuriating, indulgent laugh, and surged forward between her legs, pressing her up against the back of the bath. He kissed her on the mouth, deep and long, so that she could taste herself upon him, almost taste blood from where his teeth had dragged over her lower lip.

“My, but you do test me,” he said.

He released her, leaving her breathless and panting behind him, as he stood and stepped out of the bath to dress.


	2. Chapter 2

  
(Because I wanted to write an argument for this one, but also Fade smut. In which both Solas and Ellana are jerks to each other over a minor disagreement, but make up. Like you do. )

* * *

4.

Of course, she had to pursue him into dreams to try again. Though it wasn't exactly that simple, if anything to do with Solas, or the Fade, or their relationship could be described so.

For days after their pleasant, if not entirely satisfying bath, Ellana struggled with whether she could bear it any longer—having Solas' affections, but never given the chance to touch him in all the ways she wanted to.

She made a brief attempt to pull away, distance herself. Challenging, as they were in constant proximity; Ellana valued his knowledge and his friendship too much, and seldom left him behind at Skyhold when she traveled, had no good reason to leave him now.

Once they were out and about, she swore to herself she would not touch him at all, just ride ahead through the green Dales. This time she would concentrate on finding the materials that requisitions demanded, in those moments where she might instead seek comfort. Their various investigations would be more than enough to keep them busy. Yet, when their eyes caught—and more often than not, his drew hers like a magnet—Ellana's heart would leap like a fennec in the grass.

It was ridiculous, it was futile. The more she attempted to hold back, the more she needed him closer.

If Solas recognized her turmoil, he gave no sign; they had little privacy, which meant he made no real overtures, other than to let his hands linger longer than necessary on the few occasions he had to help her climb. It became more and more difficult not to invite him into her tent at night.

But, before Ellana collapsed under the weight of her own lust and longing, they had a disagreement.

“Blackwall mentioned to me that you have considered reversing your ban against the Grey Wardens in Orlais.” Solas' tone sent icicles under her skin. Already frustrated with him for other reasons, she gritted her teeth at him. It shouldn't surprise her that Solas had winnowed out this small reassurance she had offered Blackwall—the warden was a dreadful gossip.

“Solas, they are gone. If any are invited back, it will only be in small numbers, and vetted by myself and Cassandra personally.” Ellana doubted such conditions would assuage him, knowing his feelings about the organization; it irritated her that a man with such a firm grasp of history, could not imagine a scenario where calling upon them might be necessary.

“Be that as it may, they have displayed easily their connection to a vast and vile corruption. Take heed my words—the Grey Wardens are tainted in more than one fashion, and as an organization cannot be relied upon.” His critical gaze chilled her, but Ellana held it, looking down her nose at him in the manner he so often did to others. She did not demonstrate quite his level of haughty derision, however.

“I have been advised from many quarters upon this matter; if there comes a time where it makes more sense to have their aid than not, I must make use of it.” Her anger seemed to startle him a little, but his surprise lasted mere seconds.

“Then I hope no threat arises to push you to such a foolish and short-sighted decision.”

“Solas, be fair. I have done nothing but consider the possibility.”

“Perhaps then you might also consider stabbing yourself in the back, now, and save yourself some anguish in the long run.”

Just one rather heated difference of opinion with him, and the ride back home suddenly became very terse.

Their clash, however, made Ellana realize two important things:

First, that she was horribly, painfully, stupidly in love with Solas. So much so, that she'd almost reconsidered her stance on an important political matter, merely for his sake.

Second, that the next time she got him alone, she wanted to shatter his precious control and have him begging for her every caress and kiss. That he could twist her heart into knots with such ease, gave her a great deal to think about.

Thus, Ellana decided perhaps she really did need a little space, and as such, let him cool his heels at Skyhold when she went on her next outing. Subsequently, like some lovesick fool, she missed him the entire time they were parted, and found herself biting back questions that he wasn't there to answer.

When had she become so dependent on him?

Why had he let her?

Upon returning, late in the night and exhausted beyond belief, all she wanted to do was see him. Knowing Solas, he would already lay settled deep in his dreams; as she had left without a word, she thought it best not to wake him. But an idea sprouted wings and flew, as she fell asleep in her huge bed up in the tower, lonely, tired, and aching from the road.

It flew to him, and, soon enough, in dreams, the thought reached him, and there he made to answer.

* * *

Solas approached her throne from a shadowy doorway off of the main hall, making a lazy arc to the edge of the nine steps that made up the dais. Hands clasped behind his back, his face impassive at first, he came to a stop in front of her.

Then his eyebrow quirked up in a silent question. _Was this display_ really _necessary?_

They were blessedly alone, and for good reason—this was the hall's reflection in the Fade, filtered through her sleeping mind and his. He had instructed her after their first meeting in dreams, how to find him again if need be, more safely next time. Now, Ellana could mask her bright presence at least a little, lest it attract demons.

She fancied the velvet darkness for this meeting, and made it so the candles were quashed, the fires appearing dim red and banked for the night; most of the light came from the limpid moon through the purple stained glass behind her, and the flickering torches at each side of the throne. Having been invited into her dream, Solas did not attempt to alter it, though she knew he could.

As she regarded him in cold silence, Ellana's eyes traveled up the rigid lines of his body. Memories of what it had felt like when he'd been relaxed instead, when they'd been at ease together, and then later, of him curled around her, quiet and sleeping. It hadn't been that long ago, but... but she was stubborn, and irritated, and so was he.

“Such a gristly, brutal throne to choose to sit upon. Your old one might have been less dominating, but there was a certain austere elegance to it,” he said, and offered nothing so much as a hello.

She had not asked for his opinion, not even had the chance to give welcome. Now, he'd set the tone of their meeting—though he'd argue that point, if she made such a claim. Ellana—no, the Inquisitor—had summoned him here before her throne, after all, had she not?

Solas _would_ start out by reminding her their last discussion had left him questioning her judgment. She could grant him that her new throne carried even less subtlety than its bladed predecessor, neither of them beautiful, but she felt more like she had earned this one.

“I've already heard them call me a savage Dalish bitch. Let our visitors know I'm a savage Dalish bitch who kills dragons for sport.” She offered him a chilly smile, and leaned into the throne at an angle, kicking her feet up onto the grooves in the jagged armrest.

Even in the Fade, this massive, ugly chair, composed of the top half of a dragon's skull and it's various bones, claws and skin seemed to hold power; old, old magic; if it offered little comfort, she still felt protected inside of the arch of its maw—safe.

“It seems you have an interesting definition of sport,” he said, making note of that, rather than Ellana referring to herself in a pejorative manner.

“Oh?”

“If I recall that hunt correctly, you spent most of your time dancing and ducking around her tail and hindquarters, pricking her with knives little better than thorns, and crying for help. Sport tends to imply enjoyment, rather than deathly terror.” He said it lightly, but it stung a little to hear, as Solas had only ever been complimentary of her skills, before.

Very well, if he wanted to needle her. This wasn't what she wanted to argue about in particular (and yes, they could have been better prepared for the dragon hunt), but anything to get under his skin would suffice; he seemed determined to get under hers.

“Little better than thorns?” she repeated, resisting the urge to stand up in indignation. “Yes, I risked life and limb, being clawed, whipped, stomped and electrocuted, while you stood back and watched!” Her voice echoed on the edge of shrill through the vaulted heights, but his expression didn't change.

“So, are you saying I simply observed, as someone else wrought covering fire from a reasonable distance? Another hand and mind so cleverly devised all of the protective spells I cast for your benefit? Perhaps you lost your senses after being shocked by the Vinsomer, for there was no other mage present.” He sounded so smug, she wanted to slap him.

“Then you didn't intentionally keep missing, when you cast your barriers on the others and not me?” While it was true he did fail to cover her several times during the dragon hunt, he seldom otherwise neglected to ward her, and was, in fact, occasionally overprotective. But, if they were taking potshots at each other's skills...

Solas narrowed his eyes at her, lips parted slightly to scoff, but he knew she told the truth.

“Surely you realize, vhenan, that keeping even the simplest barrier on an unpredictable whirlwind such as yourself—particularly while you are invisible and a dragon is in the way—can be quite trying. But it seems I have failed you, and you wish to hold it over me. Please do explain then, how I might perform better, when next we see combat? That is, if I am invited.”

Solas' voice barely rose, but his posture, his restless movements told her all she needed to know. That she had gotten his back up alright, so he needled her for it. Yet, while there was acid on his tongue, his words lacked the viciousness that she knew him perfectly capable of, if he'd really wanted to hurt her.

 _Vhenan._ He wanted what she wanted, for the distance between them to stop existing.

“Tell me, ma sa'lath, is there anything you do not find trying?” she asked, watching the shift in his expression as she softened her tone.

“Dreaming is a reliable refuge... usually.”

Solas deigned to move forward then, taking the steps slowly, until he was looming over her where she reclined. The shadows that passed over his face were deep, enough so, that she could see a flicker of gold reflect off the pupils of his eyes. For a moment he looked almost frightening and sinister, then turned his head just a fraction, and looked entirely himself, if exasperated with her.

“I suppose it is fortunate we're asleep, then. You might find your refuge yet.”

Ellana wished she had been brave enough to reach out to him in waking, or he had been kind enough to do the same. She'd never met a man who with such ease, in one moment could have her hanging on his every sweet word, begging for his touch, and the next, wanting to toss him into a lake.

Being near to him, her every emotion felt brighter, stronger, more intense, which was naturally a double-edged sword.

“Is there any other reason you wished to meet me here in particular?” he asked. Meaning of course, before her throne, rather than say, her quarters, or more pleasantly, her bed.

“Did you miss me?” she countered, instead of even trying to explain, feeling a little ashamed. Ellana told herself she wanted to be on even ground with him, but the moment things got difficult, she'd done this, tried to make a show of power, made him stand at her feet.

“Yes, of course. I missed you like air and light.” Solas had switched to Elven to use a traditional phrase, and so she followed his lead, responding in kind, but with something a little less sweet.

“But you sought no window, no door. Is your heart so easily set aside in the dark?” she asked, the words feeling natural, more fluid in dreaming. He could have been the one to bend for once, he could have called for her.

“Ellana, you have to understand-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Don't. Just don't. What came before, Solas, it's irrelevant right now. You came when I called, you didn't have to, but you did. This may be a mere dream, but the only words I want to hear fall from your sweet tongue, are that you want me.”

“It is not merely a dream, it is our shared dream, vhenan, and I do. I want you,” he said.

Ellana hated that bleak sadness which lay underneath his otherwise impassioned words, and in those somber eyes. Yet, there was so much love there, too. She couldn't help wishing there were some way she could draw that shadow out from his heart and send it away. Instead, all she could do was hold him as near as she dared, and hope one day that he would let it go.

“Then why don't you come closer?” Swinging her legs down, she set her feet back on the carpet, as he leaned in.

One of the few things Ellana knew for certain about Solas, was that he really, very much loved kissing her, even if only in private, or, it would seem, in the Fade. Soon, her head swam from the intensity of his attentions, the heady heat, as their mouths met and parted, from when his teeth skimmed her lower lip, tugged at it briefly, before she dove against him to taste him again.

Unable to bear their distance, she drew him down, and Solas knelt over her on the broad, ugly throne, his knees bracketing her thighs. They could easily embrace, which pleased Ellana greatly; having the warm, solid whole of him pressed against her. She could hear his breath, feel his heart pounding next to hers, he even smelled like he should—of fresh pine and worn wool and leather; it didn't feel like a dream at all.

With his forehead pressed firm against hers, Ellana's arms encircling him, Solas ran his hands slowly over her shoulders, up her neck to cup her chin, only to kiss her ferociously again. When she sighed in appreciation, he moved to nuzzle her cheek and ear, his breath tickling her feather-light, until she made to do the same in return and more.

He gave an unmistakable groan of need, losing his focus to her efforts, one of his hands clenched in her hair, the other on her side, as she nipped and licked her way up his neck and ear. Wanting to hear what obscene sound she could draw out of him next, she bit tenderly down on the outer edge of his ear's pointed length. She nuzzled, nibbled and licked it, every hissing gasp and soft sigh he made delighting her, while she drove him to press her harder against the rough back of the throne.

“If you don't mind, I'm going to undress you,” he said, between panting breaths, as he pulled away. And, beneath him, faster than she could finish gasping her assent, her leathers, her underclothes, her boots and stockings ceased to exist. Clothing, it appeared, was not as difficult to be rid of in dreams, as in reality.

Frustratingly, Ellana could not seem to replicate this trick upon him. Either he simply had that much greater mastery over the Fade, and did not wish her to do so, or his impatient hands moving over her, stroking, tickling, caressing so fervently, distracted her beyond measure. There was no hiding how she yearned for his touch, pushed into it, held him as close as she could, grasped for what flesh of his she was able to reach.

When she thrust her hands up under his soft tunic, one of his hands moved south, the other still tangled in her hair. There was no way to avoid moaning into, against his mouth as they kissed, and he slid his much cooler fingers into the hot, wet, aching cleft between her legs.

Solas didn't laugh or chuckle, like he so often did over her wantonness, stroking her tenderly, fingers sliding up and inside of her, slippery and soft. All Ellana could do was throw her head back and pant, wishing he'd go faster, or give her more, give her all of him.

Once he had her drawing shuddering breaths, her hips angling into his touch, Solas' movements slowed.

“Shall I kneel for you again?” he asked, his eyes dark and heavy with an unwavering desire, mirroring her own.

“You don't have to ask,” she panted against his cheek, laughing.

“Really? Seated here, you officiate as the Lady Inquisitor. You called me before you, I mean to properly pay my respects.”

He sounded playful, yet, she wasn't sure if he was entirely teasing. Well, he had to be teasing somewhat—no one could smirk like that, and not know that they had the upper hand.

“Then ask, but only if you mean it.” The desperate impatience in her voice only seemed to entertain him more.

“I most respectfully request the Lady Inquisitor's permission to make her come, until she's screaming my name in her sleep.” His expression was utterly serious but for his eyes, which sparked with mischief. Oh, he meant it, every word. As if she could have been any more turned on. Presumably, he thought she could.

“Request granted—pray you don't have the guards banging down my door,” Ellana said, with a pursed, knowing smile. Solas kissed her with renewed vigor, moving on quickly to lick and nip at her sensitive neck. Her moans only seemed to drive him towards some wild edge, as he bit down hard enough that she thought there would be bright marks on her neck when she woke.

Ellana sighed as Solas let her catch his mouth one last time, after which, he worked his way down her shoulder, to her chest, palming her breasts gently, before going down. He pressed his face against her belly then her side, warming her, raking her with kisses, leaving a trail that tingled down and made her tremble. Then, as he began pulling her hips further forward, he parted her legs with firm hands, settling between them on his knees.

Running his warm hands up under her thighs, he lifted her slightly, just enough to get them under her rear, and squeezed and groped at her heated flesh almost possessively.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, “every part of you.”

Solas nudged at the cleft of her legs with his nose, and pressed on with his mouth, lapping at her clit, already swollen with arousal from his previous efforts. He eased one of her legs over his shoulder, and then his deft fingers delved her wet core again to intensify her pleasure. Ellana knew where this was going; he meant to get her off hard and quick, and it gave her no shame to let him, she wanted to fill his ears with her ecstatic cries.

She thought she might die with his name on her lips by the time he was done with her.

Where they were might have had something to do with it, as time didn't seem to pass the same, maybe it had been minutes. It didn't matter, her thoughts were swimming and fuzzy, her skin tingling and warm; all she could be bothered to do was catch her breath.

Ellana looked down at him, at this impossible man she loved. If she could make him cry out like that—draw her name from him again and again, like some heartbreaking song, like a prayer to a missing god—perhaps she too could wear such a wolfish, self-satisfied grin.

“I shall be incapable of forgetting any of this when next I see you sitting in judgment, I hope you realize,” he said, while resting his cheek on her thigh.

“Oh? Is that a problem?”

“Only in that it will be difficult to recreate such a scene in waking.” 

He said it so lackadaisically she couldn't help laughing.

“Difficult? Not impossible?”

“I have come across many unexpectedly passionate moments in my—”

Before he could finish, Ellana drew her leg back and pressed her foot into the middle of his chest, knocking Solas off-balance, down onto the carpet. She interrupted the a noise of protest he made, by tumbling down upon him, crouching like a mountain cat over his half-prone body (for he had caught himself on one hand), stooping to kiss him. He quickly forgot his grievance.

Their hips were aligned, and naked as she was, she could feel the length of his cock still hard through his clothes, beneath her. She wanted to feel more of him, and she rocked her lower body, grinding down, wanting to remove the thin barrier between them. Solas gasped, couldn't seem to help responding, his hips thrusting up hard between her legs, answering her invitation.

Something shifted in that moment, changed; in a blur of motion he had her on her back, pinning her arms above her head, his hands vice-like, never breaking their kiss, growing fiercer; the harsh, ruddy light in the hall seemed to bleed away, leaving them in nothing but shadow.

Ellana had few doubts that if he had been similarly unclothed, he would have rammed himself inside of her without a second thought, and proceeded to fuck her mercilessly on the thin carpet in front of her own throne.

Which she would not have objected to, but...

They both seemed to come to this conclusion at the same time, and he broke away from her mouth and heaved backwards, startling her. Solas stared down into her eyes, wearing an unreadable expression, as they both panted, their legs still locked together. Whatever control he had come near to losing he had regained, but only just barely, and he looked shaken.

Unfazed, Ellana smiled up, giving him back some of his own mischief. She had pushed him as far as she could for tonight, and it was just as well. Preferable to do this in waking, where she knew the rules better.

“I expect I'll see you in the morning,” she said.

Before he could respond, she slipped out of the dream.

* * *

 

Ellana woke to the cold darkness of her quarters, sweat-damp sheets cast aside, nightdress twisted up around her hips, throat dry. Whatever dreamy satisfaction she had found in the Fade, submitting to Solas' touch there, her body had not retained. From navel to thigh she ached and throbbed, and she almost writhed in need of relief.

Easy enough to remedy, though she liked it being done to her better than doing it herself. As her hand slithered down to curl into and against the wet, yearning cleft between her legs, it occurred to her she had left Solas in a similar state once again. She wondered if he lay awake as she did now, considering whether to sneak up to her bed.

Half-asleep, Ellana lay and imagined him, fixing the scene in her mind from the shared dream, beginning at the part where his larger body crushed her under and against him—finally having lost every scrap of his formidable will to his desire for her—but this time he was pushing in, filling her, the strokes coming harder and faster, just the way she needed. Her simple fantasy carried her into swift, sweet release, and soon, on into dreamless slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm mostly done being mad at Solas, I decided to take another crack at finishing this prompt. I hope it's worth the wait, and thanks for reading! :)

5.

At the familiar sound of the shrill creak and sway of the door to her quarters opening, Ellana looked up expectantly from her writing.

Hearing it close again, a gentle thud, she thought it would be Josephine's dark-haired dwarven courier with another letter. But there was no scuff of hard boots, nor the sound of her familiar short swift steps coming up the stairs. Rather, the ghosting of a much longer stride, a lighter step. 

She smiled to herself. Only a handful people were permitted up here, particularly before she was dressed for the day, though this visitor seldom made use of it.

“ _On dhea,_ ” she said, scratching down a final sentence, and rose to greet Solas. 

“ _Ra on'el mala,_ ” he replied, smiling to see her and brushed his lips against her cheek. 

Solas never could seem to say good morning in return, he'd say instead, 'perhaps it may yet be', or, like today, 'it has improved'. She'd become used to him taking awhile to warm to the idea of being awake, and couldn't help wondering if he'd find his mornings more pleasant, if he spent his nights in her bed.

“I'm glad. Is that anything important?” she asked, noticing that he carried with him an ornate, Orlesian-style scroll case.

“I understand you will want to look at it when you have the time,” he said, handing it off to her. “Lady Montilyet's courier did not expect an immediate response, so it does not appear pressing.” 

He must have encountered the courier on his way up, and offered to finish her delivery. Perhaps he had also suggested to her, too, that he wanted some time alone with the Inquisitor. 

She nodded. On the scroll case, Ellana recognized the crest of a minor Orlesian lordling pressed into the wax seal. Return correspondence, as the lord wished to have an audience when she attended the upcoming peace talks at Halamshiral—an audience she had already politely refused once. Setting it aside to deal with later, she turned to embrace Solas. 

“I don't think I've ever seen you up and around this early. The sun is barely visible on the horizon,” she teased.

Solas chuckled, breathing her in and kissing her hair, as his arms enfolded her tightly. The long robe over her nightgown lay open at the front, enough so that Ellana could feel the comforting warmth of his body against hers through the thin fabric. Pleasant, but as ever, she wanted to be so much closer.

“Your invitation left me sleeping fitfully, I regret to say. You did not give me the opportunity to accept or decline,” he said.

“My apologies, I realize I may have gotten carried away.” 

“No. It was... enlightening. The dream reflected your desires, you need not apologize for that. And, as you can see, I have chosen to take you up on your request.” 

Her heart raced in anticipation, but...

“Oh? But we're certain to be interrupted.” 

Mornings tended to be when much of the day's work piled up. Between the various couriers with letters from far and wide for her to address, and orders from her advisers to be signed off on, her time while at Skyhold when not out fielding operations, was at a premium.

“That shouldn't be a problem. At least, not until the next bell.”

“What did you-”

“Hush,” he said, mischief dancing in his eyes. 

She narrowed hers at him, but he kissed her before she could pursue her suspicions. All concerns but for making use of whatever scant time alone he'd bought them, disappeared from her mind. She shrugged off her robe, letting it fall to the floor in a velvety puddle behind her. 

“Are you still worried about losing control?”

“Somewhat. Perhaps I have been too careful, or perhaps not careful enough,” he said, again hesitating to elaborate.

“I don't want to cause you distress, but you deserve to be loved too, ma vhenan.”

“Thank you. I am not—well, let us not dwell on it, we have little time. You left last night before I had the chance to kiss you goodbye properly. Shall I demonstrate?”

She could see he meant to take her down a familiar path, but she would follow, unable to deny herself his touch. 

“Mmm, I suppose. Does it require me taking off my gown?”

“I would like that, yes, but you do not have to.” 

“You might do the same,” she said, not hesitating to undo the silken laces on her bodice. Ellana let the nightgown fall loosely from her shoulders, leaving her naked to the cold air and open to his every caress. 

Solas slid his hands down her arms, and clasping her hands in his, stepped back to admire her for a moment, as if she had given him an unexpected and much appreciated gift. Without complaint, he complied with her request to at least take off his tunic, which joined her castoffs on the floor.

Making an appreciative noise in her throat, she embraced him again, pleased to have access to thoroughly explore the warm solidness of his upper body. Ellana's skin tingled where he ran his hands down her back, and he held her against him so firmly for a moment, that she felt his contented shudder her down to her bones. 

“How is it that you are so lovely, vhenan? I want to taste you again, all of your sweetness,” he murmured, while kissing her neck and ear. The little gasps he drew from her only seemed to excite him more, while she quivered in his grasp. She loved it, feeling him so close, so hungry for her, and yet...

“Again, I am yours, ma sa'lath,” she said. 

She said it, but promised herself, the next time they were alone, she would not submit to his attentions. Not like this, not unless he gave her something more, let her touch him more intimately, let her take him, gave her a reason why he wouldn't. For now, she let him draw her over to the bed, already consumed by desire. 

His mouth was over hers before they even hit the sheets. As they fell, tangled together, she managed to roll him onto his back, like they had been in the dream. Ellana looked down over him with some mild triumph in her grin, but Solas did not seem particularly aggrieved. At least, not until she ground her hips against his erection where it strained against the fabric of his trousers. 

He bit off a moan, sucking his breath through his teeth. “Not... ah, I can't... Sit up a little, please. If you want, come forward and kneel here, up over my shoulders.” 

She reluctantly obeyed.

With his hands on her hips, Solas lifted her up, away from his delicious hardness, which she'd been exacerbating with her unsubtle rocking. 

“Like this?” Did he mean for her to continue what she had been doing against his face? 

“Yes,” he said, a little of his irritation at her for testing his resolve, leaking into his tone. “I want you to crouch over me and moan like a raging storm through the trees, while I suckle at your perfect, beautiful cunt. If you believe you would enjoy such, vhenan, we had best start, before someone steals you away.” 

Sharply reminded of the tenuousness of their little tryst, Ellana tipped down and gave a kiss and a flush-faced smile as assent. She let him guide her above his head, kneeling, her legs splayed wide over him.

Holding her steady with his hands on her rear, Solas immediately started taking teasing little nips at the insides of her thighs.

Desperate for more, she trembled with want, feeling his soft breathing cool her heated flesh, until the shock of another half-bite, half-kiss came; waiting for the steady upward journey of his mouth and tongue to turn into a long, lavish, appreciation of her clit, was maddening. 

Reveling in a final sucking kiss to the inside of her leg, which she suspected left a great purple mark, Solas started slowly rocking his face up into her, until his skin was slick with her arousal. He teased her there with the hard ridge of his nose, rubbing against her clit, trying draw from her those gasps and small cries he loved so to hear. As she had hoped, his mouth soon replaced it and he laved her with long gentle strokes, gradually picking up speed.

Caught up in the moment, panting, her head thrown back, she cried out in dismay as the rapturous feeling suddenly ceased. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, worried she'd hurt him accidentally while moving against him. 

“Quite. Do you mind if I use magic?” he asked, his own breath coming quickly.

“If you like, just please don't stop,” she begged, drawing a chuckle from him as he returned once more to attend to the ache of her desire.

Almost instantly, a tingling blanket of green energy, shimmered down over them, similar to one of his healing spells. Yet different, for a sort of warm euphoria swept over her, every nerve touched with ripe pleasure. And another sensation, paired with the welcome return of Solas' tongue against her throbbing clit, though better this time somehow, as if he was creating some sort of vibration. 

“That's new,” she gasped, as every sweep and swirl of his tongue intensified the feeling, and the pressure too, as if he suddenly had the full leverage of his fingers at his disposal. Already she felt her climax building, and she wondered briefly, how long he'd known how to do something like this. If so, why, by all of the Creators, he had held back from using it before?

When she came, it was full and intense, and almost without warning. Ellana cried out so loud and uninhibitedly, it echoed through her quarters, possibly down the stairwell and into the lower rooms. Moaning desperately, she clutched at the headboard, concerned she might hurt Solas if she lost her bearings—which seemed a distinct possibility as her legs quivered weakly, and his warm, unfaltering hands took more of her weight. 

It would be all too easy to sink down against his face too hard, to let go, and grind his head into the mattress. She wanted it to go on, to draw out the rolling waves of her bliss, forget everything else. 

Somewhere outside, a bell was ringing. 

As the aftershocks of his potent handiwork faded, Solas maneuvered her breathless, boneless form down to where she could lay against him. Ellana sighed with a sense of serene contentment, and curled herself along his smooth, bare torso. Though she'd buried her face against the crease of his shoulder, she did not fail to see the smug little grin he was wearing. He ran a hand over his damp face, and kissed her temple.

“Please tell me you didn't learn that in the Fade,” she said, reaching to pull the blanket over them. He gave a snorting laugh.

“No. It was simply a modified barrier spell, combined with a slightly altered rejuvenation field. Such simple magic can be turned to many purposes, all dependent upon the skill and creativity of the particular mage-” And he would have continued explaining as if she could understand the technical aspects, but she cut him off with a kiss.

“I liked it.” 

“I know. Perhaps later, I shall demonstrate some variations,” he said, as he rolled her onto her back, his mouth seeking hers again.

Just then, almost as if some sort of spell had been lifted to allow entrance to her tower, someone began knocking on the door below.

Of course, this would happen right at the moment Solas permitted her to savor the weight of him on top of her, his clothed cock still hard and warm, flush up against her sensitive core.

Ellana ignored the knocking long enough to finish the kiss.

“Mmm, good. Something to look forward to,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ________  
> Elven language translations:
> 
> On dhea = good morning  
> Ra on'el mala = it's better now  
> ma sa'lath = my one love


	4. +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While taking a side trip on their way to Halamshiral, Solas takes a tumble. Though he is hurt, it is not bad enough to keep Ellana from trying to seduce him as he heals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to finishing this up, though there are a few changes. 
> 
> Firstly, for this chapter I switched over to Solas' POV for a change of pace.  
> Secondly, i wrote it in present tense, rather than past, because it seemed to work better for the scene. 
> 
> For better or worse, it's done. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> ______________

“Would you like to accompany me to the Winter Palace?” she asks him, as if it is just an insignificant trek to the Hinterlands to collect sundry herbs.

The breakneck pace of the Inquisition's demands of late, has scarcely allowed them to recover from their harrowing near-death-experience in the western desert, at Adamant, and in the Fade. After all she has endured, he has tried to be gentle with her, answers her questions with aplomb, and as much honesty as he can afford.

Of course, he cannot explain to her precisely how it is that he knows it could have been so much worse. She is incredibly lucky there were so few casualties in such a dangerous, unpredictable part of the Fade. And now this.

“To what end?”

From what he and his spies have gathered of the ostentatious, hollow, gleefully brutal Orlesian court, it is feasible that participating in a fete there would be dangerous in its own way, particularly for an elf. Even more so for an elf who did not subscribe to their treatment of mages. 

“For the peace talks. Empress Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard have agreed to meet. I’ve been invited as the Grand Duke’s guest,” she elaborates. Naturally, they would want to make their quarrel, her quarrel.

“It would be my pleasure to join you, if you believe I can be of any use. Though I have doubts about whether my presence will aid your reputation among the Orlesian aristocracy.”

“For moral support, then. I’m also taking Bull and Dorian. Between the three of you, I expect I shall have the most scandalous retinue in all of Southern Thedas.” Her smile holds that warm humor, which he has come to cherish. He cannot help smiling just as affably in return.

She is not wrong, but does herself no favors in her choice of companions. Madame de Fer with her connections, or the noble Seeker, or even Varric with his popular stories, all would have been better choices to woo the Orlesians with. He suspects she is not so much interested in wooing them, as bending them to her will.

“I will look forward to observing from a polite distance. No doubt you will charm them into complacency, to make up for our detractive presence,” he says. 

Fears forgotten, the swift press of her lips to his cheek lets him know she will do just that.

However, in accepting this duty, it is, as ever, his own fault for the predicament he finds himself in later. He allows himself to be fitted for a uniform, which, while not in colors he prefers, looks rather well on him. 

With an honor guard, and her advisors in tow, they ride out soon after. 

The variables this time include, that the weather is insufferably cold, battering even his considerable defenses, the land is riddled with corrupt lyrium, along with those who would willingly use it, and civilization—if any place in this forsaken, Veiled world can truly be considered properly civilized—is a far off dream (sadly, not one full of working eluvians, proper plumbing, and unsundered elves). 

What would normally be a quick jaunt west of Skyhold, down the mountain and up the river, is an utter slog. 

Now called of all things, the “Emprise du Lion” (after the Valmonts, yes, though he suspects there has not been a cat larger than a nug in all of what is currently considered the Orlesian Empire, for the better part of five-thousand years. Mostly due to Andruil's long ago appreciation of fine fur.), the craggy basin is buried under a crystalline white blanket of ice and snow. 

The wind whips flurries into his eyes, cutting through the seams and openings of both clothing and armor, like a cleverly cast frost spell.

And, of course, Ellana is going to explore even here, while she has a bit of time to wander. When others are resting and recovering, she always pushes on. After what hardship she has already endured, even the threat of dying of exposure does not seem to much faze her.

Rather than complain, he again admires her resilience and sense of adventure, finds himself following close behind; to watch her, to assist her—and maybe he truly has lost all of his senses, for he can not abide the thought of missing that look on her face when she finds something tantalizing and new to her. 

When she looks back at him, to see what he thinks and feels, he can only grin in return, his chest swelling with warmth and rare joy. It is the ultimate privilege to be gifted with just one more slender, fleeting moment in time with her, to be desired as he is, secrets or no.

A simple, brief trek to the forward camps, she claims, as they ride up the mountain, just the two of them, past frozen waterfalls, around poisonously glowing red pillars, through the snow. If he could get past the revulsion caused by the red lyrium, the stark contrast of red on white might have held a strange beauty.

Once there, having met with the Inquisition officers upholding the site's security, Ellana climbs the nearest watchtower to get a better view of the blindingly white valley, the scattered ruins, the magnificent trees, and frozen river. He follows, thinking nothing of it; of the height, of the ice, of the potential for disaster.

Alone with her at the top, he drinks her in, admiring the way sunlight, diffuse and pale, hits the planes and angles of her face, upturned to him, smiling gently; the landscape, blanketed and somber, a graveyard and a shrine to things lost—it makes their contrasting happiness all the more poignant. 

“I only meant to get the lay of the land, you didn't have to climb all of the way up here with me,” she says, teasing him for his rare, but clear pursuit of her.

“True. The cold is more noticeable from here, as well. Best we not linger.”

“You? Cold?” Ellana laughs. He is one of the few members of her circle, who does not harp on about the temperature on a regular basis. Though, admittedly, most of them do not have an elf's natural resistance to the vagaries of the elements.

“Between the large quantity of red lyrium present, and how damaged the Veil is in this area, magic can fluctuate wildly and unpredictably. Thus, at the moment, I am not using as many auxiliary spells, including the one I usually use to thwart the cold,” he explains, briefly.

Though she is open to his thoughts and opinions on the subject, he has gathered that Ellana has little interest in magic—though as an elf, it is intrinsic to her being. He can sense it coursing under her skin, dormant; magic lives within her like some lithe, fierce creature sleeping through a long winter. It might kill her, woken unexpectedly; shatter even her magnificent spirit.

He tries not to dwell on it, but it is difficult; if she sees him wince, it is not from the whipping wind.

Seeing instead, an opportunity, she sidles closer to him, leans in, until the plates of her armor rasp against his own.

“I can warm you up,” she says, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed red. 

He has to admit that he already does feel remarkably warmer, in such proximity.

Her spirit blazes brighter and clearer in his mind's eye. Ellana is living and real and precious and irreplaceable, and so, so close. They are, unless someone should happen to glance up, in relative privacy. He slides his arms around her, until his hands rest upon the luscious curves of her hips. 

“Oh? Am I to believe you are not just as cold?” He nuzzles her wind-reddened ear, and she laughs, turning her face towards him for a kiss. Who knows if they will have another chance, between here and Halamshiral?

As she leans back on the railing, Solas embraces her more fully, deepens the kiss, pressed flush up against her, and then she lurches backwards. 

The wooden rail behind her, dry and brittle, cracks and gives way.

Off-balance, falling backwards, Ellana yelps in alarm, but he moves quickly enough, manages to keep his hold on her. The fingers of one hand hooked in her belt, the other clutching her arm, he drags her back, before she topples off. 

In doing so, however, he loses his own footing on the icy planks, and the already fractured rail behind, does nothing to impede his fall.

The last thing he sees before going over the edge, is Ellana lunge for him. She reaches out, calling his name, but inertia has already taken over.

So falls the Dread Wolf, twisting in the air inelegantly, casting a desperate barrier as the ground rushes up to meet him. 

It would serve him right if it were to end this way—distracted, foolish, his carelessness leading to complete humiliation.

On impact, his breath is knocked out, though his left leg is what takes the brunt of it. Slamming against snow-hidden rocks and roots, his hand and elbow, too, make bruising contact. The barrier he managed was effective in protecting his vitals, his head, but when the pain in his leg starts to hit him, he suddenly regrets that he did not lose consciousness. There is red lyrium threading the ground just under the snow, he knows it, feels it, realizes instantly why his barrier went awry. 

“Solas!” he hears, through a haze of pain.

Ellana is at his side so quickly, she has to have less clambered down the watchtower, than jumped. Always nimble and prone to daring acrobatics, she likely would have handled such a fall with more grace, but he can spare little thought for it now. 

He eases up on his good arm, tries not to move too much. In moments, a crystal flask is held up to his lips.

“Drink it, before you pass out!” Ellana says, in a near panic, and he obeys her command. 

It tastes not of deeply magical lotus or potent laurel, just bitter elfroot. A single weak healing potion isn’t going to be enough, but he swallows, knowing stronger (and better tasting) restoratives are near at hand in his hart’s saddlebags. Though first he must get to them.

“That should help,” she says. Meanwhile, the soldiers who had witnessed the fall, gather to see if the Inquisitor’s fool companion has killed himself for a kiss. 

“I think my leg is broken. I can heal it, but—”

“You’ll need to rest. We’re not going to make it back to the main camp tonight. I can send a messenger.”

“No. There have already been delays, and I do not wish to further impede your journey. Go back without me. I can catch up tomorrow morning, when I am hale.”

Ellana starts to say something, looks from side-to-side at the others surrounding them, and appears to consider his request. 

“Empresses shouldn’t be kept waiting,” he reiterates.

“Let’s get you situated and see how bad it is. Then I’ll decide,” she says, and gestures to the nearest of the Inquisition soldiers.

Solas casts a small barrier on his leg, which acts as a splint. It is altogether unpleasant to move, but Ellana and the soldier shoulder him back to a large, unoccupied tent, with a minimum of awkwardness. The tent contains a pair of clean, empty pallets, a camp stool, and a small table; there are no personal effects tucked in the corners. All of the main Inquisition camps have a similar allocation prepared, in case the Inquisitor drops in unexpectedly.

Once they help him to lie down, Ellana gives the soldier a quick, curt string of orders, and he salutes and runs to obey.

“Tell me you’ve brought those potions with the amrita and laurel in them. I can’t believe I forgot to resupply.”

“Yes, but…” He starts to sit up, and gasps in pain.

Kneeling down next to him, Ellana helps him out of his armor and his overcoat, as his left arm is deeply bruised. 

“I’ll take care of you, then. They’ll be here with our saddlebags and the rest of our gear in a moment.”

“There is no reason you need to tend to me personally.”

“I understand the situation perfectly well; there is time enough, and I want you with me, Solas. Besides, I’m not going to leave you alone and vulnerable.” 

She holds his gaze, her unfettered longing to be let in, to know that part of him which he must hold back, more clear to him than ever. He wants nothing more than to soothe away her concerns, erase the worries written on her brow. One day, if they both live to see it, he will have to tell her everything. The way the world is now, she could not possibly have the years such an endeavor would require. 

“Very well.” He says this, despite his misgivings, including being quite confident in his ability to defend himself, and the knowledge that she could easily have him escorted on return by her own soldiers, if need be.

She sees what he sees; an excuse to steal time alone together. His fall has planted within him, too, a desire to carry on with her just to spite his injury and embarrassment. 

Later, he will reflect on this moment, acknowledge that he should have been more firm, should have broken it off then and there. Even if reluctantly, he had held out so well for so long; even if he should have never have allowed himself to return her affections to begin with. 

All sensible protest becomes buried under a landslide of yearning, however, in what proves to be a moment of particular weakness.

That, and well, the potion Ellana fishes out of his saddlebags for him, has some peculiar side-effects. He has experienced them before, but they are far more noticeable while somewhat relaxed and prone. 

One of these is an almost euphoric feeling, induced to make up for the intense pain of muscle, skin and bone healing with such rapidity. Another increases his vigor, much appreciated when running from antagonistic beasts, but now leaving him restless, unfortunate, as he needs to keep his leg relatively still. 

He tries to distract himself with the colorful volume of Carta history he had packed to read on the road. Meanwhile, Ellana leaves to procure them dinner, and find some unsuspecting victim to ride to the other camp with a message for her. All of her advisors will be livid, as she was not meant to be gone for more than an hour or two.

The book is not quite as absorbing as he had hoped, however, and he finds himself repeatedly glancing up at the tent flap, for any sign of her.

When she returns to him, she is carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle, the scent of camp bread and roast venison wafting from it, and in the crook of her arm, a bottle of what is probably wine. This she sets aside, and comes over to settle next to him. Recognizing her solicitous expression, he closes his book and pushes it aside.

“For some reason, I expected you to be asleep.” She smiles and rests her hand over his, squeezing, and he moves to thread his fingers with hers.

“Have you ever tried to rest under the influence of a regeneration draught? It is difficult to concentrate, I have such an excess of energy.” 

Ellana shakes her head. “I suppose that makes sense. We’ve always been on the move when I’ve had to use one. How well is it working?”

“Well enough. Supplemented by my magic, I should have no trouble by morning.”

“Good to hear,” she says, and leans down to kiss him on the mouth.

As she pulls away, though, he draws her back in, wanting more. If Ellana is surprised at first how fiercely he returns her affection, she surrenders to it quickly enough. Time to finish what they had started earlier. He might be temporarily crippled, but the rest of him is perfectly sound. 

She grunts as she shrugs off her coat, and as she tries to undo her breastplate one-handed, he opts to help her with the variety of buckles and straps to her field uniform. Most of it is held together at two points, the bulk of which can then be lifted over her head, once she has her gauntlets off. Soon follow her boots and trousers.

Left dressed in only the thin linen tunic she wears under her leathers, she slides her leg across his abdomen, to kneel on all fours over him; this close, she smells of sweat and leather and old blood, muddying her usual sweet perfume. His hands go to her hips at her waist, where his fingers caress smooth skin, tenderly slide down over the pleasing curve of her naked rump and up again.

By the time their lips meet, he wants her more than he’d ever thought possible. It is almost as if his fall has put everything he feels about her into sharp focus. He can see a future now, an uncertain fragile possibility where he stands fast at her side... and he does not want to sacrifice it, can scarcely bear to think on it because of what it would mean. What it would cost him. Cost the world. 

There is still time; they still have time to spend making the madness that is this world, this stunted existence under the Veil, more pleasant for each other.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind me helping you work off some of that energy?” she asks. 

How bold she is, how honest she is about what she wants. How could he not want to give her everything? 

“I confess I have been mulling over the idea, and you do not seem to be concerned for us being disturbed.”

“I told them not to call upon me, unless the camp was under attack, or Leliana and Josephine arrived to see me, in person.”

“You believe they might go so far?”

“They could, but I don’t think they will. If you are worried, you could set wards like last time.”

“What makes you believe that I have not done so already, vhenan?” 

“I didn’t realize you could do it lying down?” 

He gives her a smug grin, and Ellana gasps as his hands trail over her smooth, taut belly and then down, towards the warm insides of her slim, muscular thighs. It is not the first time he has had to fight back the urge to flip her onto her back, and demonstrate in a far more detailed and thorough manner the full extent of his devoted affection. His leg is almost healed, after all, and they seem to have the whole night before them.

“There’s quite a lot I can do lying down,” he says then, playful, making her laugh, though there are darker implications to his claim that she does not yet fathom. 

If she only knew… 

Solas swats the thought away. If he had stopped this before he had first kissed her in waking, perhaps he could be allowed to have regrets. 

“No,” she says, “tonight, I am going to take care of you.” 

“Oh?”

“If you wish me to, of course. Watching you fall like that—I find that want to touch every part of you, make you forget you were ever in pain.” She offers an inviting smile, undoing him just that little bit more. “I just want to see you let go for a while.”

Make him forget? He cannot discount those brief moments they have had, when she steals his every sense, where the weight of memory, of his guilt and despair, they simply disappear. His vhenan sows hope in the darkest and most unlikely crevices.

“I already have,” he says. It is almost a relief in and of itself, to admit it.

Lips pursed, a warm sound bubbling from her throat, Ellana doesn’t need any further encouragement. While he is sliding his hands up under her tunic, caressing her back, she kneels over him and blithely undoes his trousers. Her fingers tease against his shaft gently, and she exposes him, undeniably aroused. An ache he has been trying to suppress for too long overwhelms him.

He groans, unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips forward, his cock slipping in a rather unrewarding fashion against her hand. This is remedied quickly, though, as her rough, but careful fingers grip him tentatively. Her hips roll against his thighs, and she begins to move down.

Before she can get too far, he leans up, catches her chin and pulls her in, kisses her, long and languid and deep. The sort of kiss that leaves one dizzy, almost drunk afterwards, and craving more. 

“Have care,” he says, leaning on the heel of his hand as she pulls away, panting. “I suspect you will not have to work very hard to—”

She silences him with her tongue. With loving strokes, she sweeps it along his length, leaving him throwing his head back, short of breath and grasping for handfuls of the roughspun blanket beneath them. It is fortunate she has his legs pinned, as he would be digging in his heels too if he could; while he is well on his way to being healed, he does not want to incur a sudden jolt of pain from abusing the leg too soon.

When she is satisfied with what incoherent noises she has been able to draw from him that way, she cups his testicles, and while rolling them softly, Ellana wraps her lips around the head of his cock. The sound that escapes his throat then—guttural, loud, and ecstatic—well, it is fortunate that he is thorough with his warding. 

She seems to appreciate his warning to go slow, and he tries to hold back as long as he can; tries not to let the wet sound, the exquisite pleasure of her warm mouth and clever tongue swirling over him wrench away his control. It has simply been too long since he’s felt anything like this. He never thought it would get this far, had expected her to lose patience at his hesitations, move on to someone who could give her the sort of undivided attention she deserved. 

And she doesn’t know the truth of him, and how could she ever understand?

“Ellana, I—” 

Crouched over him, she does not pull away at his warning, rather continues moving over him, with him, as he pants and moans, snarls when the all too quick rush of his climax breaks like a wave over him. In the end, he’s spent himself in her mouth, and she doesn’t seem to mind at all.

Holding his gaze as she gives his already oversensitive flesh one last good suck, enough to make him drag his breath through his teeth, Ellana withdraws, face flushed. There is a sort of satisfied smugness in the curve of her lips, an expression he recognizes easily, as he has worn it himself so many times. 

He leans up to catch her under the arm, and drags her smiling forward to lay bodily on top of him, so that he can embrace her. 

“Was that alright?” she asks, between kisses, her warm hands sliding under his worn tunic. 

“If intensity makes up for brevity, yes. Very much so.”

“Then you will have to let me practice. Repeatedly.”

“Only if I am allowed the same indulgence.” His hands have drifted to her backside again, and he kneads her firm, pleasantly round flesh. Bodies could be limiting, but they also had definite advantages. 

“It can be arranged. As in, you, me, my bed, whenever you wish,” she says, trailing her mouth along his ear the way she knows he enjoys.

“If it were that often, I fear the rest of the world would have to suffer without you.” Nor would she have time to eat, dress, or sleep, as he proved his ardor. If she had been born to another world, a better world, they might possibly have had an eternity to discover the depth and breadth of their love.

“Don’t tease. I mean it,” she says.

“As do I. Perhaps we can make certain arrangements upon return.” Sharing space might be enjoyable, but he knows from their time on the road, it also created friction. Then again, her bed _is_ quite large, and very comfortable, and he would rather possess more memories of waking up next to her than not.

“Good. Now, how would you like to, as you said, indulge yourself?”


End file.
